


The End

by jensennjared



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Endverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4538613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jensennjared/pseuds/jensennjared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel are faced with the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End

It was futile. The landscape outside was barren. Despite all of their best efforts, all of their best intentions, the world could not be saved. It took all their strength to admit that it was a lost cause. There was no point in fighting anymore, and so they laid down their armour, their weapons, their bullets, and gave up. It wasn’t easy. They’d fought for so long, always believing that somehow, against all the odds, they would win. Dean had lived his whole life knowing that the good, holy fight was what he was meant for. He knew what it meant to be a hero. Castiel had been created to fight; he was a warrior, his very grace an instrument designed for destruction. It went against everything they knew to just stop. 

Giving a nod — a silent gesture of goodbye — Dean closed the doors on the outside world. He pulled the wooden bar across, locking them in as securely as possible. Now, they were trapped. Death was imminent. They had been running for so long, and it was finally time to accept the inevitable. 

From somewhere behind him, Dean heard the stereo crackle. Castiel was leaning over it, placing a record onto the turntable. He pulled the needle over, and the speakers began to hum. Straightening back up, he offered a small, shy smile before lifting his shoulders slightly. It was strange to Dean that Castiel had picked the one record that housed his favourite song. He couldn’t remember discussing it with Castiel, but it seemed that the angel just knew which record to play. 

Castiel stood awkwardly. His gaze roamed the town hall; it tripped up over the plaques, the photos and the memorabilia of the town that was utterly lost to the angels and demons warring outside. It was a graveyard of evidence of lives once lived. 

The music was soothing. Castiel couldn’t help but to sway to the song. His lips made to say the lyrics, but he didn’t know them by heart. Music had never mattered to him, but now when he knew that he might never hear it again, it became poignant. His dark blue eyes found Dean. The hunter was at the opposite end of the hall, still lingering by the door, trying to ignore the screams and shrill explosions. Castiel could detect his distress. He reached out and turned up the volume. It swelled and created a bubble around them. 

Here in their isolation, Dean decided it was time. He couldn’t face the end without holding Castiel’s hand through it. Suddenly, it seemed absurd that he didn’t know the feel of Castiel’s lips upon his own.

Dean walked forward, broaching the distance between them. He’d never been to a formal prom before, he barely even knew how to dance. It should have felt foreign, but the second he offered his hand to Castiel, he knew that it was right. It felt right. Castiel stared at Dean’s outstretched palm, before it clicked. Gingerly, he placed his own hand into Dean’s. Their fingers interlocked, perfectly designed for each other. 

“This ain’t the kinda song you just stand around listening to.” Dean said, drawing Castiel in close. He snaked his right arm around Castiel’s waist and held his other hand aloft. He could feel the angel’s breath fan out over his skin; it was hot and damp. Dean held on as if Castiel was his only proof that they were both still alive.

They shifted their weight gently, swaying from one side to the other. “Am I — am I doing this correctly?” Castiel asked, looking up into Dean’s bright green eyes. 

“Hell if I know,” Dean shook his head, smiling lightly, “I’ve never really done this before.” Castiel returned his smile, happy in the knowledge that, in this at least, they were both amateurs. 

“The music is pleasant.” 

“If we’re gonna go, best to go down swinging to Led Zeppelin.” Dean smiles, believing in the sentiment wholeheartedly.

As they moved together, Dean felt warmth radiate through him. It had been a long time since he’d been so close to someone. He leant forward, his forehead meeting Castiel’s. The contact wasn’t enough; the intimacy hadn’t peaked yet. Dean pulled Castiel closer, dropping his hand and wrapping his arms around his waist. Castiel draped his arms around Dean’s neck.   
Dean’s mouth reached Castiel’s ear. 

Dean had never sung to Castiel — hell, he’d never sung to anyone before. He used to sing in the shower, in that carefree way most people did. Every morning was his own private concert attended by only the loofah and the soap bottles. He’d never really contemplated his voice. He’d never really thought about whether he could sing. But in this moment, he wanted to. The lyrics could do a better job of articulating what he wanted to say than he could. 

“If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you.” At first, he didn’t quite say the words. He coughed, clearing his throat before singing properly. “When mountains crumble to the sea,” his voice was hoarse and deep, “there will still be you and me.” Castiel smiled into Dean’s cheek. 

“You’re crying, Cas.” Dean reached out and touched the angel’s cheek. The wetness of his tears gathered on Dean’s fingers. 

“This is incredibly overwhelming. Crying feels appropriate.” Castiel nodded, stepping back an inch. “You will die. Not tomorrow — not in a few years — but, today and most likely, in mere minutes. Crying feels like the least that I can do. I am sad, Dean.” 

Silence engulfed them, followed by the static whirring of the turntable spinning without a song. Their bodies came to rest. Their feet stopped. The song was over but the intimacy held in the air. Something had changed between them — it had changed long ago, but neither had acknowledged it.

Castiel reached for Dean. He grabbed at the back of Dean’s neck, dragging his lips forward before kissing him. It was an urgent kiss, a kiss that was seeking to apologise for all that they had wasted. There wasn’t enough time left. Everything was fading. The kiss deepened, their bodies pleading with each other to overcome their own fate. 

Breaking away, their eyes met. 

“It’s okay, Cas.” 

“It is far from okay.” 

“It was always gonna end for me. One way or another. And y’know, I figure, that being here with you, listening to the classics, well — it ain’t a bad way to go.” Dean smiled, making every effort to comfort Castiel.

“Dean,” Castiel said, before taking a deep breath, “I relinquished my right to heaven a long time ago. However, I have come to realise that the human notion of heaven is — is not really a place. It is, instead, found in people. I mean to say that, no matter what happens to us, you are my heaven, Dean.” 

Dean opened his mouth a couple times, searching for words to fill the silence. “It took until death was knocking at our door for you to say that?” Dean shook his head, annoyed with himself for waiting so long. “I just — you gotta know that, well, for me, it was always gonna be you. You know that, right?” 

“I know.” 

“So whatever the apocalypse, all those demon, angel sons of bitches, got in store for us, we can take it — together.” Dean smiled. He reached for Castiel’s hand. 

They stood like that for a while, staring into each other, fingers laced together. It had been said. They were ready. Let the end come.


End file.
